Sunday, March 20, 2016

grievance: three after Katerina Gogou

Our houses are packed so closeThey are no longer houses. Get that.These our beds these our scraps of foodWe eat with the same mouth. We no longerUse our bones. We are desperate we are fabulouswe are Possibly dead.

4 in the morning. Sleep fuck get highand that monster in the sky taking our details.

Ghosts walk at noon. Everyone’s a weapon.

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There is no time. Our housesconcealed, like songs, mumble to themselvesThe stars are not stars, the city sounds not city sounds. The sirens, the cops, however,they are real as algebra or teeth are real likeLazarus who never even lived & like a plagueor like a loved one’s shadow Here I am alone

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this is me puking in the metro

my name is Katerina I have been deadfor all your life. you can buy my clothesif you like, in the vintage stores, in therenovated flats, you will find them, in